road will be impassable. We shan’t be able to leave here till God knows when, if it goes on.”
“I agree with Cara absolutely,” Catchpole said.
“Besides, Malabeya’s so sordid. I’m certain that Lucy would infinitely rather stay here, out in the open, unspoilt veldt, that be taken to that horrid, dusty little outpost. She’d feel so jostled. You know how she hated humanity when it got unsorted. I think she’d be happiest on some stark eminence, where she could look down on everything.
Don’t you think that would be more in
keeping with her nature?”
102
There was an awkward pause, broken by the
pop of a champagne cork which showed that
Geydi at any rate, had not forgotten himself.
“I’ll ask your advice when I want it, Gordon,”
Lord Baradale said curtly.
“I was only trying to interpret her real wishes,”
Catchpole said plaintively. “I can’t bear to think of the obliteration. Africa is so egotistical, somehow.
It simply doesn’t care what happens to anyone.
You know, I believe that’s why there’s such a lot of it in the Empire. We’re so impervious, somehow.
We’re really the only nation that can beat
Africa at its own game.”
“You should speak with authority,” de Mare
said acidly.
“Take whisky and golf,” Catchpole continued.
“Both invented by the Scotch to go with a cold, wet, draughty climate. We go on drinking one and playing the other in the most arid deserts. And eating Californian tinned peaches in the middle of the most tropical fertility, and building sanitary abattoirs in native villages, and making it illegal to buy a drink at five past ten in the recesses of the jungle, and making anecdotal after-dinner
speeches in mud huts in the most unconvivial places. We simply carry on, regardless of how any one else behaves. We’re the only nation really in harmony with the spirit of Africa.”
Lord Baradale gave a snort of disgust and drank a glassful of champagne at a gulp. Cara pushed her plate away and said: “Oh, do shut up, Gordon. No 103
one wants to hear your theories, and anyhow
they’ve got whiskers.”
Catchpole gazed fixedly at Cara’s face. His eyes gleamed like those of a cat in the bright light of the unshaded electric bulbs.
“You’re prejudiced, my sweet,” he said. “The
empire-building attitude is terribly contagious, and I must say you’ve been moving in very
infected circles. I only hope that now all obstacles in the path of true love have been so opportunely removed, you won’t find the wide open spaces
terribly flat.”
Cara banged her glass of whisky down on the
table and looked at her fiance with narrowed eyes.
“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked.
Her voice was trembling on the edge of selfcontrol.
“I’m
only wishing you good luck. After all, it’s
no good being too hypocritical, is it? Every one knows that poor Lucy didn’t forget you in her will, so now you’ll be free as air to choose your own fiances, regardless of any sordid questions of finance. In fact, you can be your own mistress Ч
using the phrase purely as a facon de parler, my sweet.”
“Damn you, Gordon, don’t you dare speak like
that to Cara!” Lord Baradale exploded from the other end of the table. “Haven’t you an atom of decency left? You sit there, within a few hours of Lucy’s death, and …” Words failed him, and he sat glaring at Catchpole in impotent anger.
104
“It’s all very well to accuse me of having no decency,” Catchpole said, his voice rising several keys. “It wasn’t very decent to steal Lucy’s jewels and then kill her, was it? You all behave as if you thought I did it; but when a stray white hunter without a penny to his name makes a play for Cara because he’s after her money, and then sneaks away a few days after Lucy’s jewels are stolen, and then Lucy gets shot a few hours after he disappears, you don’t say a thing\ I think you’ve got the most distorted ideas.”
“For God’s
“I agree with Cara absolutely,” Catchpole said.
“Besides, Malabeya’s so sordid. I’m certain that Lucy would infinitely rather stay here, out in the open, unspoilt veldt, that be taken to that horrid, dusty little outpost. She’d feel so jostled. You know how she hated humanity when it got unsorted. I think she’d be happiest on some stark eminence, where she could look down on everything.
Don’t you think that would be more in
keeping with her nature?”
102
There was an awkward pause, broken by the
pop of a champagne cork which showed that
Geydi at any rate, had not forgotten himself.
“I’ll ask your advice when I want it, Gordon,”
Lord Baradale said curtly.
“I was only trying to interpret her real wishes,”
Catchpole said plaintively. “I can’t bear to think of the obliteration. Africa is so egotistical, somehow.
It simply doesn’t care what happens to anyone.
You know, I believe that’s why there’s such a lot of it in the Empire. We’re so impervious, somehow.
We’re really the only nation that can beat
Africa at its own game.”
“You should speak with authority,” de Mare
said acidly.
“Take whisky and golf,” Catchpole continued.
“Both invented by the Scotch to go with a cold, wet, draughty climate. We go on drinking one and playing the other in the most arid deserts. And eating Californian tinned peaches in the middle of the most tropical fertility, and building sanitary abattoirs in native villages, and making it illegal to buy a drink at five past ten in the recesses of the jungle, and making anecdotal after-dinner
speeches in mud huts in the most unconvivial places. We simply carry on, regardless of how any one else behaves. We’re the only nation really in harmony with the spirit of Africa.”
Lord Baradale gave a snort of disgust and drank a glassful of champagne at a gulp. Cara pushed her plate away and said: “Oh, do shut up, Gordon. No 103
one wants to hear your theories, and anyhow
they’ve got whiskers.”
Catchpole gazed fixedly at Cara’s face. His eyes gleamed like those of a cat in the bright light of the unshaded electric bulbs.
“You’re prejudiced, my sweet,” he said. “The
empire-building attitude is terribly contagious, and I must say you’ve been moving in very
infected circles. I only hope that now all obstacles in the path of true love have been so opportunely removed, you won’t find the wide open spaces
terribly flat.”
Cara banged her glass of whisky down on the
table and looked at her fiance with narrowed eyes.
“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked.
Her voice was trembling on the edge of selfcontrol.
“I’m
only wishing you good luck. After all, it’s
no good being too hypocritical, is it? Every one knows that poor Lucy didn’t forget you in her will, so now you’ll be free as air to choose your own fiances, regardless of any sordid questions of finance. In fact, you can be your own mistress Ч
using the phrase purely as a facon de parler, my sweet.”
“Damn you, Gordon, don’t you dare speak like
that to Cara!” Lord Baradale exploded from the other end of the table. “Haven’t you an atom of decency left? You sit there, within a few hours of Lucy’s death, and …” Words failed him, and he sat glaring at Catchpole in impotent anger.
104
“It’s all very well to accuse me of having no decency,” Catchpole said, his voice rising several keys. “It wasn’t very decent to steal Lucy’s jewels and then kill her, was it? You all behave as if you thought I did it; but when a stray white hunter without a penny to his name makes a play for Cara because he’s after her money, and then sneaks away a few days after Lucy’s jewels are stolen, and then Lucy gets shot a few hours after he disappears, you don’t say a thing\ I think you’ve got the most distorted ideas.”
“For God’s
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